Part Time Lover And A Full Time Friend
by marajk
Summary: Whether it be as friends, as lovers, or simply as someone to share the awkwardness of growing up with, Clove and Cato have always been there for each other, no matter what the circumstances.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: Just a heads up... this will be a Clato fic, both friendship and romantically, hence the title!  
>Written from Clove's perspective. <strong>

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><p>I remember the first time that I saw him.<p>

I was 12 and he was 14.

It was on my first day at a Career Training Facility, or CTF as we call them here.

In District 2, every child is sent to a primary school from the age of 5 up until they turn 12. Through those years we were observed by aged Careers, mainly those deemed "too old" to work with the fresh blood of our district. These "teachers" would challenge us, pushing us harder and harder in an attempt to weed out those too weak to become Careers. When we turned 12, one lucky student per age bracket would get the privilege to attend a CTF where they would be trained by surviving Victors and the previous Careers who never got the honor of representing our district in the Games.

Looking back, I guess we weren't so lucky.

The day before my 12th birthday, I was pulled out of my classes and my parents were called to the school to meet with my teachers. I was excited and eager and nervous to seal my fate. I just knew that I would be picked to be a Career. They had to pick me. There was no one more cunning or lethal in my age bracket. My parents and I were lead in a small room with a table, at which sat three adults who I had seen around school, but never actually talked to. My parents and I took the three seats opposite them, my father on my right and my mother on my left.

"It seems to us that Clove possesses a certain set of... skills that we believe could be beneficial to our new pack of Careers" a scrawny bird-like man with a tight jaw and beady black eyes said to my parents. My parents beamed, proud that their only child was being spoken of so highly by these important officials.

"We have been observing her talents, particularly her gift with knives" a corpulent man with a thick mustache said, rubbing his left eye sleepily.

"I gave her her first blade when she was just 4 years old" my father beamed proudly as he patted me on the back. "It was a beautiful piece, just 3 inches, but as deadly as poison in the right hands."

I smirked and placed a hand in my pocket where that particular knife resided at that exact moment. Though the blade was dull and the handle chipped, I never left home without it.

"We've always been proud of her-" my mother began.

"There is the matter of her size though," a lady with a rat nose and dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun harshly interrupted. "She is smaller than most 12 year olds, and our fear is that some of our other, bigger Careers may write her off before they see what she has to offer."

At this, I sat up haughtily and narrowed my eyes.

"My size?" I retorted. "Puh-lease. If anyone thinks I'm not a threat, I'll slit their throats before they have the chance to beg for mercy."

"Really? You will" the lady with the rat nose replied skeptically. She stood up and began pacing, her hands folded behind her back.

"So tell me... You're in the Games. It's cold, you're starving. There is no water nearby and you have no way to start a fire."

She turned to me and drilled her eyes into mine.

I glared back at her and narrowed my eyes.

"However, there is a small group nearby. Two boys and one girl. They have a fire and supplies... but they're also big and armed. The girl has a bow and the other two have makeshift spears constructed of long sticks with knives fixed to the ends. What do you do?"

I stood up, and slammed my hands down on the table emphatically, spitting out harsh responses.

"Do I have any weapons?" I said as I glared at her.

"No."

"Nothing? That's unrealistic."

"That's The Hunger Games, honey. You will find yourself without anything unless you form alliances with the other Careers" she snarled at me.

I thought for maybe half a second, but years of practice made me quick on my feet.

"Then easy. First, I would pick up a hand full of rocks and throw several in the bushes opposite where I'm hiding. Then, when all three of them turn to see what's over there, I would throw another rock at the head of the larger of the two boys and take his so-called spear. From there I would dislodge the knife from the end, and immediately throw it at the other spear holder. Finally, and for the grand finale, I would take one of my new knives and do this-"

I clenched my hand around the dull knife in my pocket-I wished I had something sharper, but I wasn't expecting an audience-and whipped around, throwing it at the wall directly behind me. I didn't even have to check to make sure it stuck. I knew.

"-to her head. She'd be dead before she even loaded her stupid arrow. And I'd have a knife to spare."

Beady Eyes, Mustache, and Rat Face all stared at me incredulously.

I abruptly sat back down, my lip curling upward into a devious smirk.

"So when do I start my training?"

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><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<br>****What did you guys think? Reviews, comments, etc would be appreciated.  
>Also, I really hope that I'm doing Clove justice.<br>She's my favorite character, and I want to accurately portray her personality/total badassness. **


	2. The Boy With The Sword

**A/N: I'm really excited about this fic! Thanks to all who subscribed, favorited, and/or reviewed!  
><strong>

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><p>He was swinging a heavy-looking sword at a training dummy.<p>

I was watching from afar.

It amazed me the sheer power that he could wield with such a large weapon. To me, any blade that I couldn't quickly and easily throw was clumsy and unappealing, but I supposed he relied more on his strength than on his wits. He fastened his sword back into his belt, and walked toward the dummy. He had taken only one slice and the head was completely detached from the body. It fell to the floor with a thud as the boy ran a hand through his spiky blonde hair. I watched as his clear blue eyes surveyed damage and his knobby fingers ran over the cut on the dummy. He was kind of cute, even for a brainless, sword-obbsessed boy.

"Everyone, please listen up" the voice of a Marius, the victor of the 64th Games, boomed throughout the gym that we were in. "We have some fresh meat joining our ranks today and I want you all to make her feel welcome. Clove, can you please come up here?"

I stood, frozen, as the eyes of about 30 or so other kids turned my way. The boy with the sword who I had been watching leaned back lazily and yawned.

Then, just like that, I felt my feet carrying me over to where Marius was standing.

"Very good... Now Clove. Show us what you can do" he said as he gestured to three targets set up on the wall opposite us.

"You want me to throw my knives at those?" I smirked, bored, as I tightened my grip on the two in my hands. Without waiting for his answer, I whipped the first out of my right hand, landing a bulls-eye in the target to my left. Then, from my left hand, I thrust it forward, hitting the right target dead center. I turned to Marius, and with a smirk on my face, started to speak.

"Oh, you didn't want me to wait, did you?"

His beaming face wavered, if only for a second, but he quickly composed himself before addressing me.

"No, that was near perfection" he said. "Welcome, Clove, to the long road to becoming a Career."

The other kids slowly lost interested, and began to turn back to their individual activities. I stamped my foot in anger. Near perfection? Only near perfection? This angered me. I was perfection. And if that stupid old man couldn't see that, then I'd demonstrate my "near perfection" skills on him. I pulled the last of my knives out of my belt and glared at the center target, imaging it was Marius Skeeter himself.

I threw. And as usual, I didn't miss.

Just then, the boy with the sword walked over to me, an arrogant grin plastered on his face.

"Hey" he said cockily.

"What" I snarled as I walked over to retrieve my knives. If they had really wanted to challenge me, they could have at least made the targets moving or something else. Anything else, really. Stationary targets just felt like cheating. If I hit to moving target, dead on, would that be perfection? Because I could do that, with ease.

"So where did you learn to throw knives like that?" the boy asked as he leaned against one of the targets.

"My dad taught me when I was little" I muttered, as I dislodged my first knife from the target.

"I dunno, you're still pretty little" he said, grinning again. He had a point, though. At a measly 4' 8", I was still pretty small for my age, and he was easily 5'5". I turned to glare at him as I reached for my other knives, but he had already turned his back to me and was walking away.

"Wait," I paused, immediately regretting speaking. "What's your name?" I asked as I tucked my knives back into my belt. I was going to have to sharpen them; their points were nearly ruined from such simple throws. What a shame.

"It's Cato," he winked as he flashed me his perfect rows of pearly whites. "I suppose I'll see you around, then?" He asked as he looked at me with his bright eyes. I thought about this for a moment before I nodded.

Perhaps I would like to see more of The Boy With The Sword.

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><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<br>****I'm really stoked right now, because I know exactly where I want to take this. Eeep!  
><strong>**Reviews are highly appreciated as they help me know what I'm doing right/wrong.  
><strong>**So please, review!**


	3. She Never Misses

From there, it was simple.

I began my training.

Countless hours of sweat, blood, but never tears, were poured into my strict workout regimes. The instructors wanted to make sure that I was flawless in my execution of, well, everything.

"She never misses" Lizo, my personal trainer, said regarding my knife skills. And he was right.

And while my foraging and agility were becoming more and more refined everyday as well, I still struggled with anything strength related.

If you gave me a knife from 30 feet away, I could pierce an opponents heart within half a second.

If you gave me a sword from 3 feet away, I would stagger backwards and it would clatter to the ground.

It wasn't like I wasn't strong. When it came to hand to hand combat, I was able to gain an edge over much larger opponents with ease. Two quick dodges and a sharp hit to the neck and they were all mine. I just couldn't seem to get the technique of any other weapon except my knives.

Obviously, this infuriated me to no end. I was going to be a Career tribute. Sure, I was only twelve at the time, but in 5 or 6 years, it would be me volunteering at the Reaping.

Me, standing next to the ridiculously dressed woman from the Capitol.

Me, being interviewed by Caesar and charming all of Panem.

Me, returning to District 2, the youngest female Victor in all of history.

"You're holding it wrong" a voice called over to me, shattering my delusions of grandeur.

"What?" I frowned, puzzled as Cato walked over to me, a relaxed grin on his face.

"The sword. You're holding it wrong. Right now, it looks like you're holding a really long, awkward-looking knife. If you hold it more vertically, you'll have better control over it and it will actually seem like it's what it's supposed to be: a sword" he said as he grabbed my wrist and tilted it upwards, radically improving my grip. In one swift movement, I lunged forward and slashed a training dummy in front of me. Its right arm plopped to the ground with a clean cut.

"I'm not an idiot, I know how to hold a sword" I grumbled as I turned to Cato, my expression quickly changing from one of annoyance to one of suspicion.

"Why are you helping me?" I questioned as I narrowed my eyes. I had witnessed Cato's brutality firsthand many times, as a favorite sport of his was tormenting some of the younger kids at the CTF. Just the week before he had broken a boy's nose all because he took a spear Cato wanted to use.

Cato just shrugged, saying nothing.

I rolled my eyes and threw the sword to the ground, crossing my arms. My fingers toyed with the knives strapped to my sides.

As he watched this, Cato began to smirk.

"Oh, what? Gonna throw some knives at me?" he taunted, laughing aloud.

"You know what, keep it up and I just might" I growled, at what I hoped was menacingly. However, it was a little hard to be intimidating when the one you were trying to intimidate was a good 9 inches taller, 50 pounds heavier, and 2 years older.

He raised his hand up from his waist and I immediately tensed up as my hands instinctively gripped my knives and my arms poised to throw them.

"Woah, easy there Clove" he said as he ran a hand through his hair, his muscles bulging.

I relaxed slightly, my hands leaving my knives as I folded my arms across my chest, still stumped as to why Cato, one of the best recruits in this whole program, would waste any time working with, or even helping, me.

"Why are you helping me, Cato? I'm the newest, the youngest, and the smallest one here. Isn't there someone else that you can patronize? Because I have actual work to do" I said as irritation oozed from my voice.

But Cato just laughed as he snatched the sword I had discarded up off of the floor. He then turned and paraded back to his corner of the CTF, swinging the blade side to side, hitting targets as he went. No one dared go over there, out of fear of him, but I couldn't help but watch, mesmerized. The way he swung his sword was almost an art form in and of itself. It was as if every slice, every cut, was a brushstroke and he was an addicted painter. Unfortunately for the dummies, they were the canvases.

I turned my gaze away from him and shook my head to clear my thoughts. I thought to myself that I really needed to focus and get back to practice, so I whipped a knife from my belt to the target on my right. I heard the familiar sound of knife splitting foam target, but something felt off. As I focused my gaze directly on the target, my eyes widened and jaw dropped.

There was just no way.

My knife was planted about 3 inches to the left of my usual bulls-eye.

I had missed.

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><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<br>****If you review and/or subscribe and/or favorite, I just wanted to say a formal thanks! So... thanks! **


	4. It's Just The Hormones

_Nervousness, fear, sadness, love._

These were typically not emotions that I liked to possess, but due to annoying, biological mechanics of the female species, once a month I was subjected to these horrible, horrible feelings.

_Anger, power, adrenaline, fury._

Now that was more like it.

To some, those may have been regarded as negative emotions, but to me, they were aides to battle.

After I had missed my target during training, I vowed to never let that happen again.

For months, I practiced my throwing and refined my skills.

I could now hit anywhere on a target with deadly accuracy without breaking a sweat.

Except for once a month, coupled with when he distracted to me.

Cato, the boy with the sword.

Cato, the model Career tribute.

Cato, my own personal dose of poison.

There was just sometime about him that caused a funny feeling in my stomach. Not in a bad way, but it sure was different. Almost like something was fluttering around in there while my brain was simultaneously being turned off and I lost the ability to his my target. Sure, we were friends. For two years, we trained together and sat with each other at lunch some days and he would tease me for being such a shrimp compared to him, but I had never thought of him as anything more than my only, and by default best, friend; just another kid in these games. But the fact that he could get so far into my mind angered me, yet at the same time, I was powerless to stop it.

But then one day, everything changed.

It was late, perhaps a little after midnight, when I heard a strange tap on my dorm room window. Curious, I sat up from my bed where I was sharpening my knives to see what the hell could be going on this late at night.

"Clove! Clove, you awake? Come on!" Cato hissed from the other side of the window.

"Cato? What the hell... it's midnight!" I whispered, angrily.

"I know what time it is! Just come on!" he said as he motioned for me to open the window and climb out.

I rolled my eyes and climbed out of bed as I grabbed a jacket and a pouch with several throwing knives. I carelessly slipped into the coat and sloppily planted my feet in a pair of tennis shoes. Cato glanced side to side and then back to me as he grinned from ear to ear. I unlatched the window and pushed it open, carefully slipping out and onto the dewy grass.

"So what's the big emergency that required me to sneak out at midnight in my pajamas?" I grumbled as I began to follow his large strides. He just stuck out his hand and waved a keyring around, the many keys jingling excitedly.

"Woah, keys!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "Care to elaborate some? Cause if you brought me out here in the middle of the night to show off a set of fucking keys, I swear..."

"You'll see" he smirked, taking obviously pleasure in my discontent.

After what seemed like hours of walking, we finally ended up at the outside of one of the old CTF buildings. More specifically, the building where they store all the new weapons and target dummies. I stared, open-mouthed, as Cato inserted a key into the lock and the door swung open.

"Welcome to paradise" Cato said as he gestured to endless supplies of knives and swords, with a plentiful amount of dummies for the both of us.

"Cato!" I exclaimed. "What the... How did you-"

"Janitor" He said, as he cut me off. "$50 and the place is ours whenever we want."

I walked over and picked up a black-bladed knife. I turned it over in my hands, once, before whipping it at a dummy hitting it straight where it's heart would be.

I laughed. Throwing knives was the only place I ever really felt comfortable and at ease. I picked up a few more and chucked them at various dummies around the gym, hitting my target ever time.

"Hold up, save a few for me!" Cato yelled as he grabbed a sword and lunged at the first dummy that I had hit. One slice and it's head was on the ground and he was laughing too. We kept this up for hours. I found a peculiar knife with a compartment for poison in the handle and Cato stumbled upon a sword with a ruby encrusted handle. We both tested our new toys until a fair amount of the dummies were reduced to nothing more than a pile of limbs.

That was until Cato threw down his sword and flopped onto his back as he grinned. I walked over to him and looked down on him from above as a smirk played on my lips.

"Now who's the shrimp?" I said as I raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm... Still you" he yawned and sat up as he stretched his arms in the air.

I wrinkled my nose in obvious protest, but didn't say anything. Instead, I sat down next to him, cross-legged, and stared out at the pile of dummies.

"What're you thinking about?" he asked. He had always been able to read me better than anyone else. He was my best friend, after all.

"Do you think Garmond or Gazelle will make it back this year?" I said as I referenced the two District 2 tributes who had volunteered this year for the Games. In my opinion, neither one had been particularly good at anything, unlike me and Cato, but they had been the only two 18 year olds who jumped at the opportunity to "bring pride to the district."

"Not a chance" Cato said as he shook his head sadly. I frowned, temporarily feeling sad for the two who I had briefly trained with during my time at the CTF.

"Two more years, though. Those will be my Games" he continued.

"What'll happen... I mean, what if you don't come back?" I whispered, suddenly afraid for my best friend. I didn't like feeling this way. Screw being a teenage female. Having this many different emotions was exhausting.

"Don't worry about it" he said as he leaned over and planted a kiss on my small lips. I stared back at him, unblinking as something stirred from inside my chest.

"I'll be back" he smirked as he waved goodnight and walked away from my dorm.

I ran inside and locked the door. No, no, no. This could not be happening. I couldn't actually like Cato. I mean, he was Cato! My training partner, my best friend! But the harder I protested, the louder the thing in my chest roared. I climbed back into bed and rested my head on my pillow, my head racing.

"It's just the hormones" I whispered to myself. "Just the hormones."

I didn't know it yet, but unfortunately, it wasn't.

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><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<br>****Here's to remembering that even the Careers are people too!  
>Reviews are really appreciated, so please, keep reviewing and all that awesome jazz :) <strong>


	5. Nightmares

I lied; nothing in life was ever simple.

"You bastard!" I hissed at Cato the next day as we were training.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Clove" he just smirked at me as he continued to swing a sword around.

"I'm not just some little kid you can screw with anymore, Cato" I warned, my voice dangerously low. I gripped my knives firmly as I glared intensely at him, wanting nothing more than to drive them into his arrogant smirk.

"I'm not screwing with you, Clove" he turned to me, dropping his sword to his side.

I just stared at him blankly.

"I don't know what that was last night, and I don't want to talk about it... right now" he muttered and turned his back to me.

Well, that was insightful.

I pestered Cato trying to get him to talk to me.

And yet, I was still just as puzzled as ever, unsure of what Cato and I had shared the other night.

All I knew was that Cato had stolen my first kiss, and I was determined to get some answers as to why. As future Career tributes, we weren't meant to have emotions such as love, or lust for that matter.

And this was exactly what I told Cato when I cornered him later that day. He stared at me, a weird expression on his face as I went off at him. I yelled at how he couldn't play me like that. How real Careers couldn't live like this. How it went against everything that we had been taught at the CTF. He just nodded, not saying anything, something that was very uncharacteristic.

"Are you finished?" he asked, a hardened expression plastered on his face.

"Yes" I sighed, as he leaned in to kiss me, again. I felt the heat of his body pressing against mine and the urgency behind his lips. The thing in my chest purred with pleasure and it took all that I had not to kiss him back. I couldn't say that I didn't enjoy it, but something felt wrong. So I did what they taught us to do best here at the CTF. I shut off my heart and turned on my brain.

And my brain told me to slap some sense into this 16-year-told Career.

"Ow! Clove, what the hell?" Cato yelped as I pulled back and slapped him hard across the face.

"Stop doing this!" I yelled at him, shaking my hand out. That probably hurt me more than it hurt him.

"Doing what?" he rubbed his jaw as he eyed me suspiciously.

"Being so... Being so... You!" I exclaimed, unable to even explain what I meant.

"As much as I want to know what that means, I don't have any idea what you just said" Cato repeated, staring at me like I was crazy. Hell, at the rate I was going, I must have looked pretty delusional.

"I can't like you, Cato. It's not right. I mean, you're going off in two years to the Games, anyways. And it's not practical. We can't afford distractions until after the Games are over. For both of us" I exclaimed, and I immediately wished that I could take it back. Did I actually just tell Cato that I liked him? Oh shit.

He stared at me like I was crazy and I again did something completely against my nature.

I turned the other direction and got the hell out of there.

xxx

Once I was back to my dorm, the door locked and blinds shut, I began to actually worry.

This was all so messed up.

Cato wasn't supposed to be anything more than a training partner or a friend to me.

Now that all of this had happened, I would never be able to look at him the same.

And that meant make way for a whole lot of awkwardness in the gym, too.

We spent a lot of our free training time together, and now that I had seemingly lost my partner forever, I was going to lose a lot of practice as well. Nobody else in the CTF was up to the same standards as him. He was the strongest, the fastest, and the smartest. No one else could even compare.

I angrily threw two of my knives at the wall.

They stuck with the satisfying sound of blade splitting wood and it temporarily distracted me.

I pulled three more from my belt and blinding whipped them around the room.

I managed to hit a lamp, a painting of President Snow, and spit open a pillow.

Feathers exploded from it and rained down slowly from above.

I allowed a small smile to play on my lips as I retrieved my four daggers.

I should have known that I could always go back to my knives in times of trouble.

They had always been there for me, whether it be when my dad was drinking or my mom was yelling.

I scoffed.

My parents, putting on their façade of perfection when they were in the public eye. My father had been a Victor, but scarred by his experiences, instead of spears, he took up alcohol as his weapon of choice. He married my mother, one who never got to experience the Games and was still bitter about it. On her year to volunteer, there had been another girl who had beat her out for the coveted spot. The girl died, in the arena, and my mom still holds true to her word that if she had been sent, District 2 would have had another Victor on their hands.

So at a young age, my parents forced me to take up throwing knives as a hobby. My father wanted another Victor in the family; my mother wanted a girl to win for District 2 and reclaim what should have been hers. I had countless scars all over my fingers from when knives slipped or I threw them incorrectly. When that used to happen, my mom would scream about my imperfections and my dad would drink. It was a never-ending cycle.

Once I finally perfected my skills, my parents let me alone. However, this was a nice change from years of their over-bearing style of coaching, so I lived in solitude, untrusting and reproachful of all others who dared try to enter my world.

I was extremely far out of my comfort zone to have connections, emotional or physical, with anyone and allowing Cato to break into my shell scared me.

I put my knives back onto my belt and lay down to go to sleep for the night.

As I closed my eyes, my dreams carried me back to my parents house where my dad was drinking, as usual, and my mom yelling at me. But I was ready this time. I grabbed a knife from my belt and held it, poised to throw when someone burst through the fictional door in my dreams. It was Cato. He ushered for me to come with him and I obliged, following him without question.

Then, I woke up, drenched in sweat, my hand cramped as though I were holding a knife. I shook my head violently, trying to wrench the murderous thoughts from my brain.

"It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream" I whispered to myself.

Life may have sucked sometimes, but it seemed to me that my dreams were going to be a lot worse.

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><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<br>****Okay, this was just a weird chapter and I honestly don't really like it.  
>I guess it's more of a filler, expect a better one next chapter... <strong>


	6. Mistakes

Cato and I didn't really talk for a long time after our two kisses.

And it still freaks me out that I can say kisses, plural. Or even at all.

Sure, we talked at the CTF or during our training, but it wasn't like it had been.

To be honest, I really didn't know what to think of him anymore.

He had broken down my walls and let himself inside my heart, and there was very little I could do to get him to leave.

He tended to have that effect on people.

The next time I saw him was on Reaping day.

I had just turned 15 and he was 17, almost 18.

Today was his day; the day in which he would volunteer.

"Clove" he nodded at me as he saw me in my black and red Reaping dress. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a mint green bow-tie. He tried to meet my gaze, but I quickly averted my eyes.

"Ladies and gentleman! Welcome, welcome!" a voice called from the stage.

"We'd better go" I mumbled, as I quickly shuffled away from Cato and went to join the other girls. This was going to be an especially tremulous year. It was the first in a quarter of a century that District 2 was not going to have a volunteer female tribute. Charlotte, the star-kid of the female tributes, had broken her legs in a terrible training accident only a few weeks ago and was unable to compete.

"Welcome to the 74th Annual Reaping for the Hunger Games!" Smithon Asher bellows over the microphone. He was a tall, skinny man with wild purple hair and a curly Capitol mustache who regularly escorted the D2 tributes to the Games. He then began with the usual monologue about what an honor is it to represent your district and all the other things that people are frankly tired of hearing.

"Now, shall we mix it up a bit this year and start with the gentlemen?" Smithon declared as the roars from the audience shatter the sound barrier. He barely had a chance to get his hand over the large gold cup in which the names of the children of the district were placed when a loud voice boomed resonated over everyone.

"I volunteer" Cato said, as he began to walk up to the stage.

Well, that was no surprise. Everyone knew that this was Cato's year. He was to turn 18 in 3 days, and then the Games would really be his.

"Ahh, well congratulations young man!" Smithon beamed as he firmly grasped Cato's hand and shook it. Cato grinned, a relaxed expression crossing over his face as he stood, waiting to see what unlucky District 2 girl would be called.

"Let's see, let's see" Smithon said, once again running a hand over a large golden goblet. However, this time he reached in and pulled out a small black piece of paper, sealed shut with the name of the second District 2 tribute.

"Clove Parks" he called as he looked out into the audience in search of the girl. There is some unhappy murmur mixed in with the usual excitement of the crowd, and it confuses me. The Games are something to celebrate in our district. The unrest is concerning until, wait.

No.

It couldn't be.

"Clove Parks" he squinted into the audience again, and I am frozen.

I'm not exactly sure how, but my feet begin to move and pretty soon I am walking up to the front of the stage to meet Cato. On his face lies an expression of shock, of anger, and of sadness. The audiences reactions now make sense to me. Many of them know that we're friends, or rather that we're friendly. I'm sure they're also sad to see two of the most promising District 2 tributes go in the same year, where only one of us will be allowed to return.

"Congratulations young lady! And that concludes our festivities for the day! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor" Smithon concludes as the electricity to his mic is shut off. He looks back and forth between me and Cato, a disappointing expression crossing his face. Maybe it is because he has seen us together, in previous years, or maybe he just had some bad coffee today.

Cato and I make our way back to the rooms where our families will greet us, the two Career tributes from District 2.

"Clove" Cato started, but before he could finish I was in his arms and he was hugging me.

"Shhh, it's okay" he muttered to me as he holds me tight. Without him, I am sure that I would have fallen apart.

"I'm sorry, Cato. This whole... thing. It's stupid" I mumbled as I buried my face deeper into his muscular chest.

"Don't worry about it" he said as he kissed my forehead, not letting go of me.

The doors open and in steps 6 figures, though I cannot make out who they are from the shadows in which they stand. When recognition finally sets in on me, I immediately break away from Cato when I see the disproval on both of our parents' and our mentors faces.

Looks like I've already made my first mistake of the Games.

* * *

><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<strong>  
><strong>Thank you to all who keep coming back for more!<strong>  
><strong>(Because I haven't the slightest idea as to why you do...)<strong>


	7. Partners

I could tell from the stale smell of liquor that my father had been drinking again.

It wasn't that difficult to read on his face, either. The corners of his mouth turned down fixed in a permanent frown; his distant stare.

All were vivid indicators of his impaired judgement.

My mother, on the other hand, was a raging ball of fury and passion nearly all of the time.

People said that I was a perfect combination of both of my parents. They proclaimed that I got my intensity from her and my quick wit from my father. But whenever anyone would mention this, I would scowl and point my knives at them.

I didn't want to think of myself as the product of two other individuals, I just wanted to be myself.

But now, as the eyes of both of mine and Cato's parents bore into me, I wanted to shrink back and hide behind the defenses that my parents had prepared me for.

"What is going on here?" my father growled, the stench of whiskey permeating the air.

"Nothing" I mumbled as I glanced at Cato from the corner of my eye. "We were just talking."

"Talking," scoffed my mother, her tongue as vicious as ever. "You think that there will be time for 'talking' in the Arena? You two should be training, strategizing!"

"We'll have plenty of time to strategize" Cato interjected as he crossed his arms, his eyebrows furrowing. I gently placed a hand on his bicep, silently pleading with my eyes for him to drop it.

"This is exactly what we mean" Cato's father said, eying my hand on Cato's arm. "We can't afford for you two to openly display any form of emotional connection. It's dangerous."

"Precisely" my mother continued. "Any emotion will be viewed as weak by the Career pack. You, us, District 2. We are meant to work together with those from Districts 1 and 4. They are the most powerful and the ones that you'll want to team up with unless you want to constantly have to watch your back."

"Any other advice" I said sarcastically as I rolled my eyes at my mother's never-ending rants about strategies for a game she never got to participate in.

"Actually, yes. Learning to exploit emotions, more than anything, are the most danger weapons in the Arena" my father managed to get out before returning to his alcohol-induced stupor.

"What does that mean?" Cato sneered just as I dropped my hand, puzzled.

"It means," Cato's mother began, "that if you two continue this... this friendship," she paused again, knowing that this is the wrong word as she desperately comes up empty-handed, "then others will find a way to use it against you. Partnership can only go so far" she finished, her gaze flickering quickly to me.

But as I hear these words, something else resonates within me.

The line about partnership, that it could only go so far in the Arena.

I suspiciously look up to meet the gaze of both of our parents and am greeted by 4 pairs of eyes all clearly relaying the same underlying message: that sooner or later, Cato and I will have to split up.

After all, twenty-four go in and only one comes out.

* * *

><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<br>****Keep reviewing, guys! All your notes make me smile! **


	8. A Simple Question

We sat apart on the train, not talking and unmoving.

Both of us desperately were trying to comprehend the actuality of what our parents had told us.

_Stick with the Career pack, they are your best bet at survival._

_However, never trust them._

_They are just waiting for the opportunity to stab you in the back._

_Beat them to it._

_One of you will eventually die and, if necessary, the other will allow it to happen._

The list prattled on and on, until finally I could no longer stand the blaring silence.

"What are we going to do, Cato?" I mumbled, unsure if he would even respond to me. What seemed like a simple question had turned into a never-ending struggle between what we were trained to do and what we wanted to do.

It took him so long to respond that I thought he was going to ignore me completely.

"We're going to do whatever it takes" Cato said simply, as if it were that easy.

"I don't understand" I said, now angry. How could just accept what our parents had said? How could he be void of all emotion, even his usual rage? How could he have not want to fight this?

He just looked at me as a certain tiredness that I had never seen before crept into his eyes.

"Don't you get it, Clove? We can't win. Not both of us anyways" he said what I'd like to think was a little sadly. "Sure, we're going to try, and we're going to get as far we can, but when it comes down to it, only one us can win."

I stared at him, unblinking, as a frown formed on my face.

This is not what he was supposed to be saying.

"God Cato, you're such an idiot" I muttered as I bit my lip and took off for my private compartment on the train. When I reached the room, I slammed the door and threw myself on the lavish bed. Why were there beds on this train, anyways? We were on it for maybe a maximum of 3 hours.

I couldn't believe what Cato had said though. He had always been one to speak his mind, but this was a whole new level of cruel. To tell me that he was going to have no problem killing me had really shaken me, and I obviously had not come to the realization that maybe, I was going to have to be the one to finish him off as well.

Could I do it?

Could I take the life of my best friend? Okay, maybe he was somewhat more than that, but still.

In the heat of the moment, would I have the ability to aim my knife and plunge it into the heart of Cato?

Anger, rage, and frustration overwhelmed me, and I slashed my knife through one of the down pillows, sending feather flying about the room. Blindly, I took another stab at the bed, shooting another puff of feather high into the air. Once I had virtually destroyed the bedding, I moved onto the portraits. Slash marks and deep gouges now littered the various painting hung throughout my room, tables were flipped on their sides, and vases were shattered on the floor.

I stepped to admire my work as I retrieved my knives from their positions strewn around the room. As I tucked them back into the various hiding places in my clothing, I head for the door to go back to the main compartment on the train. It's time to get off and enter the chaotic Capitol.

Cato and I were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder, but I didn't mind so much now.

He tried to talk to me, but I ignored him. To be honest, I didn't even hear what he had started to say.

The deafening roar of the citizens of the Capitol combined with my conscious effort to tune him out had drowned out his voice entirely. From the corner of my eye, I saw his lips moving, but no noise was produced.

We stepped of the train and glanced around, our masks coming on to hide our true emotions.

These faces were to say that we were bored. That we were ruthless. That we were not afraid to kill.

Cato's cocky grin, my sarcastic smirk. These would become our trademarks.

But underneath the strong, united exterior that we provided, Cato and I were broken.

The unanswered question that had been festering in the back of my mind sprung to the surface once again, but this time I had an answer.

When the time came, and it was to determine my survival in the Arena, could I bring myself to kill Cato?

Cato, the boy with the sword.

Cato, my first kiss.

Cato, my best friend and possibly the only person whom I actually loved.

The answer was difficult, but simple.

Yes. Yes I could.

* * *

><p><strong>A Note From The Author;<strong>

**Reviews and all that jazz make me smile, so thank you to all who have been obliging! **


	9. Powerless

I decided within the first 3 minutes that I didn't like the Capitol.

Sure, it was nice... if you wanted thousands of freaks fawning and screaming over you.

Had nobody here heard of personal space?

It took all that I had to keep from whipping my knives into the crowds, but something told me that murder was frowned upon outside of the Arena. So instead, I just smirked at the crowd and crossed my arms, letting them know who the superior one was here.

As Cato and I were escorted off the train and into our private room with our Mentors, I couldn't help but feel a slight pang of jealously as I watched Cato grin and wave to his sea of female admirers. I know such a simple gesture shouldn't set me off, but I can't help and be a little angry.

"Clove, what's your deal?" Cato muttered from the corner of his mouth, still smiling and winking at the crowds around us.

"Nothing" I hissed through gritted teeth as I forced myself to keep smiling while imagining slitting the throats of all the Capitol freaks surrounding us. Especially the girls.

We continued this painstakingly difficult trek through the crowd until finally we were behind closed doors and I could drop the ridiculous act. I yawned and stretched my arms out, stabbing the table with one of the knives strapped to my belt.

"That is mahogany!" Chestnut, one of our hosts cried, but she was immediately silenced with one look from me.

"Don't bother, you'll be lucky if everything is shredded tomorrow. You should see what she did to the train" Cato chuckled, as I whipped around to stare at him.

"How did you find out about that?" I demanded. There was no way he could have seen, our rooms were on opposite ends of that stupid train.

"You're not nearly as sneaky as you think you are, Clove" he grinned and flopped down on the couch.

"So, when are we gonna meet our stylists?" he asked Chestnut as he popped a few chocolates from the dish on the table into his mouth.

I just stared incredulously at him as Chestnut babbled on and on about how great our stylists were going to be and how they would "capture our true essence and put them on display for the whole world to see."

I snorted.

Sounded unappealing, to say the least.

We were shuffled from room to room, the stylists primping and prepping us to look "absolutely fabulous" for our debut into the Capitol: the tribute parade.

They finally decided on simple gold gladiator outfits to outline our intimidating persona and accent our ferocity. Normally I could care less about all of that aesthetic crap, but I admitted that we did look pretty menacing. Cato's bulging arm muscles were left out of his chest plate, giving him the look of a hardened, actual gladiator, while I had a golden crown placed upon my head. A crown meant to symbolize the Victor crown, and how great it would look placed upon my head.

"Ready for this ride? Cause I'm already bored shitless" Cato whispered to me as they loaded us onto our chariots.

I bit my lip and temporarily hated myself. It was almost like the past couple of days had never happened, because such a simple comment reminded me of all of the years that Cato and I had been friends. When we were little, he would swear and I would cover my mouth and pretend to be offended while all the while laughing to myself. If he continued to remind me of all the memories we shared, it would make it that much harder to kill him, in the end. It would be hard enough, betraying him, and all of this wasn't making it any easier on me.

"That makes two of us" I murmured, as I attempted to keep my eyes fixed ahead and my face void of all emotion. But as Cato's eyes narrowed, trying to analyze my thoughts, I saw the familiar spark of recognition cross his face and the triumphant smirk that followed.

Once again, Cato had managed to break through yet another one of my masks.

And I was powerless to stop him.

* * *

><p><strong>A Note From The Author: <strong>

**Needless to say, this kind of digressed from where I originally imagined it, but whatever!  
>That's creative writing for you!<br>****Anyways, please review! **


	10. Her One Fear

As it ended up, training with the other tributes was amusing, to say the least.

No, strike that.

It was downright hilarious.

Half of them looked as though they'd never used a weapon before in their life and the other half had a pathetic, weakling look to them. The two that were most intriguing to watch were the girl and the boy from District 12. The two who had stolen our spotlight in the Tribute Parade. The girl had a fierce, determined look behind her scrawny frame, and the boy was watching the girl like he'd take a knife in the heart for her. Together, they made quite a pair.

Cato was just to the left of me, and I watched as he sliced training dummies to shreds. This image reminded me of a much simpler time, so many years ago.

I proceeded to whip three knives at three stationary targets, and smirked as I felt the eyes of the impressed, yet at the same time, fearful tributes watching me.

Training here was a joke. Naturally, the Career pack was beginning to form and Cato and I met up with other tributes from Districts 1 and 4. This years pair from 4 did not look exceedingly promising, the boy having a slight limp and the girl being frail and elderly looking, despite the fact she was sixteen, seventeen at the most. A quick glance between Cato and I, and it was soon only us and the two from 1. We strutted around the center, showing off and refining our skills.

Climbing was easey.

Survival skills were simple.

Running was no problem.

Cato and I had been training for these Games all of our lives, and the mundane tasks that the trainers recommend we practice were getting old. However, there was one station that I refused to touch.

The fire starting station.

"Clove, you coming?" Cato called while holding a flint over some kindly. He was with the District 1 girl, Glimmer and her partner Marvel. I tried not to let my jealousy creep out as I fought to keep a steady voice.

"No thanks, you think I need to waste me time there?" I managed to sneer as I turned away.

Cato just shrugged and began striking his flint over the dry twigs and a fire sprung to life.

I couldn't help but jump slightly as I took a step back. It was my biggest secret, and I couldn't tell anyone, not even Cato. Because in the Arena, it could easily be turned against me. The girl from District 12 had already unknowingly exploited it, and I refused to let anyone else get an edge over me.

Yes, it was true.

I was afraid of fire.

* * *

><p><strong>A Note From The Author:<strong>  
><strong>Sorry for the delay and this chapter being so short!<strong>  
><strong>It's been my spring break and I've also been suffering from writer's block for this story...<strong>  
><strong>However, if you want more Clato, check out my headcanon blog .com :) <strong>


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